Changes
by Jacinda
Summary: Post Mea Culpa: One month after the night shift is broken up, Nick, Warrick, Greg, and Sara meet up for breakfast. NS and a little WC- FIN
1. Nick's POV: Broken Down

Author's Note: This is a scene I've been toying with for a few weeks; I'm just not sure how to write it. I don't normally like to villlify Grissom, but I needed a bad guy that could lash out and hurt Sara. We all know Ecklie is a jerk, but I don't think he would have the same power over Sara that Grissom does. Let me know what you think. Let me know if you all want more chapters (I could easily see this becoming a Snicker).

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Nick's POV:

They walked into the diner looking as if someone just died; the reality was that something, not someone, died. Greg looked exhausted, and Sara looked like she had stopped sleeping all together. They only agreed to join us for breakfast after a lot of prompting . . . for old times sake is what I told Greg in the wee hours of the morning; Catherine had called Warrick and me to let us know they would be late. Apparently, Grissom had gone on a tirade about Sara's overtime. Catherine was witness to the spectacle only because she went to her office early this morning to work on some paperwork. I guess spending the extra time to teach Greg correctly and thoroughly had become a crime. Catherine said that Grissom spent most of his free time trying to find the weakest link in his team . . . a suitable scapegoat to blame for the break up of the team. I guess Sara had become his scapegoat.

They sat down in our booth silently. I wondered if asking them out to breakfast was some colossal mistake. Sara looked as if she was on the verge of tears; Greg looked like he might just lash out at the first moving target. They were my closest friends, but I almost couldn't recognize them. Catherine said that nightshift had become a dangerous place to work. When I asked why, Catherine said that Grissom was doing extensive case reviews on Sara. Catherine said that for some reason Grissom laid all the blame on Sara; she said it was his way of falling out of love with her . . . and his way of solving some of the problems that Ecklie had brought to the surface. Grissom had become tough as nails; he was rough on all his CSIs. Grissom was slowing evolving into a man that I no longer idealized as I did only a month ago.

"Hey," Warrick said. I wasn't sure if they even wanted to be greeted; I didn't dare ask how they were doing. From the looks on their faces, it was apparent that all was not well.

"Hey," Greg replied with a half-hearted smile. Greg squeezed Sara's arm; she looked up, but she couldn't smile. There was a look of complete despair on her face. It was an expression only befitting a funeral. She got out of the booth abruptly and walked outside.

"What's up with Sara?" Warrick asked. I didn't know what I should have said; I felt guilty for being satisfied with my job and my new supervisor. The night shift hadn't been broken up; it had been decimated.

"Two week suspension. It's all bullshit," Greg replied as he shook his head.

"Why?" I asked.

"Overtime . . . Grissom couldn't read her handwriting on a one a case file from two years ago . . . she was ten minutes late today . . . general hatred for Sara," Greg replied, "I should go make sure she's okay."

"Didn't Catherine only get two weeks for blowing up the DNA lab?" I asked. Greg nodded and Warrick lowered his head. The punishment didn't seem to fit all the crimes that Greg had listed off. I wondered if our team was that co-dependent. Without all the pieces, everything had fallen apart.

Greg disappeared outside after Sara. I watched him put his arms around her; I stared in amazement. I knew Grissom had made her cry before, but those times were all on a personal level. Today, he had taken a swing at her from a professional level. That was something that I would have considered unheard of, but I guess things changed. No one ever promised us that these changes would come easy; they were surely coming easier for Warrick and me than Sara and Greg.

"Do you just want to get going? I don't think either of them really want to be here," Warrick suggested.

"Why were we the lucky ones?" I asked. Warrick shook his head again.

"Catherine never really liked Greg or Sara. Ecklie gave Catherine what she wanted because it was the easiest way to get to Grissom," Warrick replied.

"Sara's not feeling too well. I think I'm going to drive her home . . . sorry about breakfast," Greg said. I hadn't even heard him approach the table.

"Is she going to be okay?" I asked.

"She hasn't been okay for over a month . . . you know . . . ever since Grissom put her on probation after what happened this summer," Greg replied. I don't think he could have possibly danced around that question anymore than he did. Sara didn't tell a soul about her drinking; she didn't tell a soul about her almost DUI. Grissom was the one that broke the news in the form of an impromptu memo about not drinking while driving government vehicles. Grissom never wrote memos before. I didn't understand why he would want to hurt her of all people; it didn't make sense.

"Are you going to be okay, man?" Warrick asked.

"Yeah, you know . . . I have a week to think about my own misjudgments. Sorry if you guys have to pull overtime to compensate for us," Greg replied. He looked even more sullen than he did ten seconds earlier.

"What the hell happened?" I asked.

"I accidentally wrote in Norwegian on two of the DNA samples I collected last night. I did it without thinking, but you know Grissom," Greg replied, "I should go. Sara's close to losing it out in the parking lot. She said she wanted to have her breakdown at home."

"You should talk to Ecklie," Warrick commented.

"I hope that we aren't around long enough to have to talk to him," Greg commented. He was still standing at the end of the booth. He didn't look like he could move even if he wanted to.

"What?" I asked.

"Sara and I are thinking about going back to San Francisco. We both started our careers there . . . we both have family there. We put in for transfers to almost every open position; where ever we end up can't possibly be as bad as here," Greg commented.

"Are you sure?" I asked. That was a stinging loss that I hadn't expected this morning; working a different shift from them was no thing, but losing them altogether was something completely different. I had been close to Greg; I was as close to Sara as she would ever let people get to her. We had watched each other grow as people and professionals. There was a bond there that couldn't be broken by simply working a different shift, but I knew they would probably disappear from Las Vegas. I might see them at professional conferences, but that would probably be it.

"I can't do this anymore . . . Sara can't do this anymore. She's a mess . . . she can't think . . . she second guesses herself constantly. He's made her a nervous wreck," Greg said. He put emphasis on _he's made her a nervous wreck_; there was no doubt that he was referring to Grissom.

"Is she going to be okay alone?" Warrick asked. Warrick was still looking down at the table; it was hard to look at Greg and Sara knowing that their worlds were crashing down around them.

"I'll take her car keys before I leave," Greg said in a tone that indicated that he just might have done that before.

"I have tomorrow off. Why don't you go home . . . I'll take Sara home and watch her for a few hours," I offered Greg. He nodded. Warrick and I got up; I tossed some bills on the table to cover our coffee. Sara was leaning up against her Tahoe; her sunglasses were on, but I could tell that she was hurting. Her lip quivered every time she looked at Warrick and me; she was jealous . . . she was ashamed of being jealous of her friends.

"I'm going to take you home. Greg said he needs to rest," I said as I stood in front of her. Sara nodded before she all but fell into my arms; she was trying to talk but I couldn't make out a word that she was saying. Sara was crying far too hard for her to be able to communicate; her tears clearly and loudly communicated for her. It scared me; I had never seen Sara lose her composure to this extent. I wrapped my arms around her; she felt smaller than I remembered. Sara looked a lot more tired than I remembered. Warrick said that he'd call to check in later; Warrick and I could move Sara's Tahoe later this afternoon. Warrick told Sara he was sorry. I felt the same way; part of me was sorry that I had Catherine as a supervisor. Catherine might be tough, but she was never tough on me.

So much had changed only on one month's time. It didn't seem fair.


	2. Nick's POV: Brothers in Arms

In the softest voice, Sara asked me to clean out her liquor cabinet and her medicine chest. Sara said that she was afraid that she might do something stupid; she said she didn't want to but death would be a welcome comfort compared to her perceived uselessness on Earth. I couldn't believe that Grissom was able to take down such a strong woman in only one month. The Sara I knew was gone; there wasn't a trace of her smart-ass wit or fierce determination. She had been rendered blank; I wondered what kind of emotional abuse could possibly do that to her. It was something beyond my imagination.

Sara sat silently on her couch staring at the blank screen of the television. I turned on her police scanner; I knew she used to listen to the scanner to unwind. I knew she used to play this game where she would describe everything she would do if she was the first CSI on the scene. Sara didn't play the game today; her confidence had been shaken. She couldn't do anything to please the man that she always secretly, or not so secretly, harbored feelings for.

I cleaned out her cabinets; I was shocked to see the number of half empty alcohol bottles in the liquor cabinet. I nearly fell over when I saw the number of bottles of sleeping pills and antidepressants Sara had prescribed to her. She could have easily killed the entire state of Rhode Island with all the alcohol and medications she had in her possession. I wondered why I hadn't noticed this; I was the intuitive one . . . I was the one that understood people so much better than my more stoic colleagues. I attributed Sara's recent mood swings as a product of being overworked; I never asked her if she was okay. She's Sara; Sara's never been one to admit weakness or defeat. I felt the wave of guilt wash over me as I wondered if I could have saved her . . . and Greg. I wondered if they were somewhere beyond repair.

"You okay?" I asked as I sat next to Sara. It was a stupid question; Sara obviously was not okay.

"I knew it would get ugly, but I thought it would be Grissom and Ecklie going at it. I didn't think he blamed me. I always tried to be perfect for him . . . even when I wasn't perfect, I pretended to be for him," Sara said as she continued to stare into space. Sara wasn't lying; she had become perfect for Grissom. She became extremely knowledgeable on Grissom's favorite topic; I could see that she had started to collect textbooks about forensic entomology. Sara had worked herself to the bone trying to impress Grissom; she lost part of herself to her perfection.

"I'm sure Grissom doesn't mean it. He's probably just upset about Ecklie," I said. I wanted to reassure her that it wasn't her fault, but Sara had taken it personally because Grissom had personally attacked her and singled her out. Sara felt guilty; there weren't enough words in the English language to change her mind.

"He said that it's my fault that Susanna died . . . the girl that was raped during the home invasion thing. He said that I should have made her pick out her rapist from the line up. The case went cold. He blames me for it," Sara replied. Her voice was flat. The coolness of her voice sent chills down my spine. I couldn't believe that Grissom would blame Sara for that; Sara did everything she could to protect that girl. Sara knew what it felt like to be that girl; after four and a half years, Grissom should know that.

"It's not your fault. You wouldn't let her get hurt. You'd never let a victim get hurt again," I replied.

"He said that I should have left after I finished Holly's investigation," Sara replied. That comment had to have cut her down to absolutely nothing; I wondered what the hell was going on inside of Grissom's head.

"I'm so sorry, Sara," I whispered. I could feel the tightness in my throat; I wanted to cry for Sara because I couldn't even imagine what it felt like to have someone you love tell you that you are unwanted.

"He says stuff like that to Greg. He reminds us that we are the 'B' team. He puts a lot of pressure on Greg. Grissom wants everything done faster and more precise . . . Greg's just learning this stuff. He can't keep up with the demands. Greg's hands have started to shake again," Sara commented. It was obvious that Sara and Greg had become strong allies in the face of Grissom's new personality. Sara began to cry when she talked about Greg; she acted as if it was okay for Grissom to treat her like that, but it was unacceptable to treat Greg like that. I wondered how much Sara endured to protect Greg. I wondered how much Greg endured to protect Sara.

"God," I replied. I didn't even know what to say to make her feel better.

"It's hard because I know I'm supposed to respect him, but I think I hate him," Sara replied. She continued to cry for Greg; the tears made wet trails down her cheeks. She didn't bother to dry her eyes; it was as if she didn't care.

"What did I do to make him so angry?" Sara asked in a childlike voice. She turned to me and looked me dead in the eyes. I could feel my heartbreaking for her.

"It's not you . . . it's not. I promise you that this has to be something else. You've done great things here. There has to be something else going on," I replied as I took her into my arms. I stroked her hair; her tears saturated my shirt. I struggled to hold back my own tears.

"What if it is me?" she asked as she began to choke on her tears. She tried so hard to suppress the sobs; she tried so hard to be the strong one. It was probably her way of protecting Greg; she made herself the better target. In the process, she started believing that it was her fault.

"It's not you. I don't know what it is, but it isn't you," I replied. She shook in my arms; she shook like a wounded animal. It was hard to believe that a man I respected so much was capable of causing so much damage.

She cried herself to sleep. I carried her to her bed; she was tiny. I knew Sara had a fine bone structure, but she felt frail. She was torn apart mentally and physically. We all knew that Warrick was Grissom's favorite, at least to some degree. I knew that Grissom treated me with a degree of favoritism. I wondered if that was pushed in her face.

I called Catherine. She always seemed to know what was lurking in the corners of that man's mind.

"Nick, I don't know what to tell you. I heard he suspended Greg and Sara. Sophia isn't fairing much better . . . she put in an appeal to Ecklie," Catherine explained after I told her about the two needless suspensions.

"What can we do?" I asked. Catherine had always been good at the politics aspect of the job; her ability to work the system was what made her management material.

"I'll talk to Grissom. Keep an eye on Sara . . . Grissom was pretty hard on her this morning," Catherine replied as she hung up her telephone. If Catherine was suggesting that I keep an eye on Sara, it had to have gotten bad this morning. Catherine never liked Sara; I don't think she even respected her on a professional level. After Eddie's murder, Catherine treated Sara with a coolness that is uncommonly felt in the desert. I knew Sara was hard on herself for not getting a conviction for Catherine . . . for Lindsey. Things between them were always tense; I always attributed it to their competition for Grissom's attention. Lately, neither of them had any desire to continue the competition.

I watched Sara sleep; I wondered if anyone else knew that Sara was fragile despite the tough act that she always played up. I wondered if Grissom had any idea what his wrath had done to her. I don't think he did because if he could see her now, he would understand the true impact of his words.

Her doorbell rang. It was Sophia; she looked nearly as distressed as Sara and Greg did this morning. I never like Sophia; I always thought she came off as pretentious with her holier-than-thou attitude. It could have been that I didn't like her because she never belonged on the night shift. Sophia had taken over what belonged to Warrick, Catherine, and me. I used her as my scapegoat.

"I just wanted to let Sara know that I talked to Ecklie this afternoon . . . not that he really seemed to care about what Grissom is doing," Sophia said as she walked into Sara's apartment, "You've gotten rid of her alcohol. Did she ask you to?"

"This morning she asked," I replied. They were brothers in arms; the new night shift had bonded in light of their common enemy.

"We get drunk almost every morning. Greg and I sleep here more than we do at our own homes. People can only endure so much, Nick," Sophia said as she walked down the hallway to Sara's bedroom, "I just wanted to make sure she was okay. Grissom takes away what means the most to people. He's trying to take away Sara's professionalism."

"Why?" I asked. I didn't expect her to know.

"He wants us to suffer like he is. Grissom is a Shepard that has lost his herd. It makes him suffer. His neuroma complicates things," Sophia replied as she watched Sara sleep.

"Neuroma?" I asked.

"I saw the doctor's report sitting on his desk; neuroma of the eighth cranial nerve localized to the right lower branches. He's going deaf; not the same way as his mother did, but the outcome will be the same," Sophia replied, "I don't think anyone knows. Catherine would probably be the only person that would know."

"Benign?" I asked. I could feel cold chills run up and down my spine.

"Pre-malignant. He'll have to have another surgery," Sophia replied. I didn't even know when he had his first surgery; I wondered how a woman so far removed from the situation could know so much.

"I should go. I'm working a few extra shifts today. Grissom will give me hell if there's any backlog," Sophia said with a sigh.

He had made them a party to his own fears and regrets; if he was going down, it appeared that he would take them all with him.


	3. Catherine's POV: Bad to Worse

"That was two years ago on a closed case," I argued. I instinctively drew my hand to my head; my head pounded. I was fine prior to walking into Grissom's office; I was fine until I asked him what the hell was going on. I was never one to mince words.

"What if the conviction is appealed?" Grissom fired back at me. His face was red; the bags under his eyes were much more pronounced. I wondered when the last time he slept was; he spent all his time here.

"It's over, Grissom. Why Sara? Why not Ecklie or Sophia?" I asked pointedly.

"Sara's work has been sloppy at best. If she wasn't a drunk . . ." Grissom started.

"Grissom, your whole team comes in with hangovers. I'm not stupid . . . I see what you've done to them. This isn't about Sara's work ethic. This isn't about sloppy handwriting. This has been about you . . . now, what the hell is your problem?" I yelled at him. He stopped; he was barely breathing. He looked me in dead in the eyes with an anger that I never expected from this gentle man.

"Get out," Grissom calmly ordered as he pointed towards his office door.

"No, not until you tell me what's changed," I demanded. My palms were sweating; I could feel my left eye begin to twitch. My eye only twitched when I was extremely angry or stressed out. Normally, only Lindsey was able to get this response out of me.

I had been worried about Sara and Greg. I may have not been their friend or anything more than a coworker, but I was worried about how they operated like robots. They never turned their cases over to the morning shift; they normally were still in the lab when swing shift came on. When asked to hand their case off, they always said Grissom wouldn't like it if they did. Suspensions had become commonplace on night shift as did reprimands that could be heard from all corners of the lab. If they did go home after their shift, they came back hung over. Sara and Greg seemed to pop aspirin like it was going out of style. Sophia had recently taken up the practice with them. They looked like they were drowning; Grissom didn't look like he was ready to pull them ashore . . . he was watching them drown. I protected Warrick and Nick from Grissom; I didn't want them to see their mentor fall.

"Catherine, this is none of your business. You have your shift. Go ask them questions," Grissom fired back.

"As your friend, I'm worried about you . . . I'm worried about Sara and Greg. We may not work together anymore, but you can still talk to me," I replied. I tried so hard to suppress my urge to yell at him; I wanted to beat him over the head for being so stupid. I didn't want to be on the receiving end of his wrath.

"Catherine, everything has changed," Grissom said as he lowered his head.

"No one ever said change came easy," I replied.

"What?" Grissom asked as he snapped his head upward. He didn't hear me. He had been watching my lips. I remembered this same scene from only a year ago.

"Your hearing?" I asked. I held my breath as I waited for him to answer.

"Acoustic neuroma," Grissom replied. His blue eyes look more gray than blue today.

"Gil, how bad?" I asked with a sigh.

"Pre-malignant. It has a high rate of transforming into a malignant tumor," he replied.

"What's next?" I asked.

"They cut it out. Catherine, please be discreet," Grissom pleaded. It would be easy to be discreet; I never talked to the night shift workers. It would be hard to overlook their party the first night Grissom would be on leave. It would be hard to overlook it because I was his friend, but I understood Sara, Greg, and Sophia's motives. Hell, I would do the same thing.

"You let me know if you need me," I replied. Last time, he didn't tell his mother. She was in bad health at best; I had met her twice. She always looked like she had one foot in the grave. Last time, he said he would not burden his mother, so he faced surgery alone. This time, he would be even more alone than last time. He didn't have his night shift; he didn't have his friends. He didn't have the support of the people he loved the most; although he wouldn't admit it, he loved us as much as Grissom could love.

"Thank you, Catherine," Grissom replied.

I left his office. The answers weren't comforting. The answers did explain his change in behavior; he was isolating himself to protect himself from anymore hurt or disappointment. He should have been promoted to director of the lab; we all knew how much Ecklie's promotion hurt Grissom. There were no words that could comfort Grissom. Bad always seemed to lapse into worse; an acoustic neuroma was the worst. He would be rendered deaf after the surgery. I remembered Grissom once saying that a CSI needed to use all his senses to solve crimes. Being a CSI was his life, I don't think he even knew what he'd do if he lost his sense of hearing. Ecklie would never let him continue to be a CSI.

Changes never seemed to come easy.


	4. Sara's POV: Lifeline

My head pounded; it was the first time in a long that I had a headache from something other than a hangover. I didn't remember how I got into my bed; I didn't remember if Nick left. I doubted that he did; he wasn't like that. He didn't run from people; that was Grissom's MO. Grissom ran because he was afraid that people might care about him and he would be forced to care back. Grissom would have to make himself vulnerable; Grissom never allowed himself to be vulnerable, not even when Debbie Marlin was murdered . . . not even when he realized that Debbie looked a lot like me.

The television was on. Nick was watching a football game. He turned the television off the minute I got into the living room. He smiled an awkward smile; I think I might have tried to smile back.

"Feeling a little better?" he asked.

"A little. Are you hungry?" I asked. I was starving. I felt bad for backing out on breakfast thing morning; I felt bad about almost everything I did lately. I had so few reasons to feel good about myself.

"You want to order out?" he asked. Nick knew that there would be a very, very limited number of things in my kitchen that he would want to eat. He was keenly aware that after 'Ms. Piggy,' I was unable to eat any sort of meat. Something about rotting pig flesh turned me off from meat permanently.

"Sure," I said as I sat next to him on the couch. He wrapped his arm around me; I was grateful that he was trying to protect me from Grissom even when Grissom wasn't here. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I needed to be protected. I needed someone to tell me that I was still a good CSI. I had been so worn down that I had started to doubt my abilities.

"Sara, it's not you. I just want you to remember that. It's not you," Nick said. I leaned into him. I felt safe. I hadn't felt safe for a long time.

"Thank you," I whispered. It was so good to hear; I wished that Greg could hear that too.

"It's an acoustic neuroma," Nick whispered. I sat frozen; I remembered the day that the DNA lab exploded. I had followed Grissom down the hallway because I thought I saw a hearing aid in his left ear. I had noticed that he would watch my lips when I talked to him. At first, I thought it was Grissom's weird sexual fetish. Grissom always said that to expect the unexpected; people did weird things to each other. Then, I noticed he was staring at everyone's lips. I had heard about his mother's condition; I wondered if it was taking his hearing too.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Sophia stopped by. She saw the doctor's report on his desk," Nick replied. He kissed the top of my head; I hated to admit it, but I liked it.

"Do you know how bad?" I asked. He pulled me a little closer to him; I rested my head against his chest.

"Pre-malignant. He'll have to have it removed," Nick replied.

"Wow," I said. It felt like someone had squeezed all the air out of my chest. For as much as I began to despise Grissom, I felt horrible for him. I did care about Grissom. I didn't feel the same things for him that I did a year ago, but he had always been like a father to me. I always tried to gain his approval. It was important to me that he respected me just as much as I respected him.

"I know," Nick replied, "We could always send him a plant?"

I laughed. I remembered the plant that Grissom had sent me after I blew up at him nearly two years ago. _From Grissom_ was all the card said. It made me smile because he cared; he said a million words in his own inept way.

It felt good to laugh. I had rarely laughed in the last month. Greg has laughed even less; I used to look forward to going into the DNA lab because Greg would always make me laugh. It made the nights go so much faster. I missed his laugh. I missed how things used to be. I would have turned back time if I could.

"I miss you," I said. The words escaped my mouth before I could harness them.

"I miss you too. Let's go out and get something to eat. Let's get you out of this apartment," Nick said as he pulled me off of the couch. He was smiling; I always loved his smile.

An hour later, we were walking through the park. I hadn't been sober enough to do this in a long time; Greg, Sophia, and I spent too much time looking for comfort in the bottom of a bottle of whisky, brandy, or whatever was lying around. I had stopped running; I used to run each morning after work. That was when I still cared about myself.

Nick was talking about the case he had been working on. Truth be told, I wasn't paying that much attention. I was enjoying the sun and the fresh air. It was almost enough to make me forget the past month. Nick was holding my hand; he would occasionally squeeze my hand to bring me back into the conversation.

I had always thought of Nick as being something akin to a brother; God knows I barely knew my own. He has always been there. He has always been kind to me when I believed I did not deserve his kindness. I cannot remember him ever saying an unkind word to me. I know Grissom, Catherine, and Warrick have. Catherine uses my name with an element of disgust that I never knew existed. Grissom . . . Grissom cannot spare a kind word for me anymore.

For the first time in weeks, I have left work at work. It never happened very often; I was always the workaholic. People made it seem so bad, but work was always very kind to me. It gave me purpose. I was aware that these next two weeks would be a struggle; without work, I had no purpose.

Nick has said people don't think he's funny. I didn't understand; he always knew the right thing to say to break the tension or to make me laugh. Not many people have ever been able to make me laugh.

My thoughts wandered to Greg. I wondered if he was okay; I wanted him to be okay. He took Grissom's criticisms personally. He admired Grissom; part of him might have even wanted to be Grissom. I knew that my praise alone wasn't enough to build up his confidence. He desperately needed Grissom's approval. Well, Greg didn't get approval . . . he got a one week suspension with pay. The hitch was that the suspension was a clever way to waste Greg's vacation time. Greg had talked about going skiing in Colorado; he almost had me convinced to go with him.

I wondered if Grissom would tell us about his hearing; I wondered if he would confide in Greg and me. I didn't understand why he kept these things secret. I knew from personal experience that secrets had a way of building up until they drove you crazy. I wondered if Grissom might just be feeling a little crazy because everything about that man was a secret. I wished that he could find one person that he could open up to. I thought it would have been Lady Heather, but he expertly pushed her away. My understanding was that he wouldn't even drive down that street anymore. He couldn't see her; he couldn't talk about her. She was probably the closest to breaking down the walls Grissom built around himself.

"Thank you. Thank you for getting me away from everything that reminds me of work," I said to Nick. I had slowed down; we watched a teenage boy play Frisbee with his dog.

"Don't thank me. You would have done the same thing if it was me," Nick replied. Actually, I wasn't sure if I would have done the same thing. I would like to think that I would have.

"What's next?" Nick asked. He asked me like I might just be thinking of something other than all my problems; sometimes, I felt plagued by all my problems . . . all the drama surrounding the lab. Drama seemed to come with the territory. Drama seemed to be a prerequisite if you lived in Vegas. San Francisco never had this kind of drama. It never had the kind of drama that could render a person emotional bankrupt.

"I don't know," I replied. The sun was beginning to sun behind the horizon. We both normally would have been at work by now. Sophia was the only one that would be working the night shift with Grissom tonight.

"I should go make sure Greg is okay," I said after a few moments of silence.

"I'll go with you," Nick said. He was still holding my hand. I don't think he realized that he was my lifeline.


	5. Greg's POV: Fathers and Role Models

They walked together in an easy stride. I had been sitting on my deck all afternoon; Sara immediately knew where to find me. I had once told her that my deck was the only reason that I bought this house. It was spacious and afforded me the view of all the houses nestled in the hills on the outside of the city. I often came out here to think. I spent the entire day trying to think . . . think about what comes next. Unfortunately, what came next was a twelve pack of beer.

In a lot of ways I had become like Sara. I needed Grissom's approval, I needed to feel that I had mastered my work, and I began to hide all my emotions away. I began to feel nothing when I was at work. When I got home, I normally was confronting a tidal wave of emotion that often threatened to sweep me away. I never realized just how hard being a CSI was. Sara tried to make things easier by being a good and patient teacher; the most important thing she did was listen to me talk about the bodies and victims. She said it got easier with time.

"Greg," Sara said as she sat in a chair next to me. Nick stood uncomfortably at the end of the deck. I didn't really know what to say to them. I knew what to say to Sara only because she had seen me in this condition before; Nick had never seen anything other than the professional me . . . well, as close to professional as I could ever muster. Sara was a much more accomplished drunk than I was. She held her liquor better than anyone else I had ever met. Sara always took on somewhat of a motherly role when she was drunk. She took care of me when I drank to the point of near poisoning. I wasn't that great of a drunk; I was sullen and slurred my words into an unrecognizable language that was all my own.

"Sara, I haven't been drinking all afternoon . . . I spent most of it sober," I replied addressing only the party that I was comfortable with.

"Let's get you something to eat and some water," Sara said as she helped me stand up. We had done this dance before; we had become very proficient at this dance. Sara had taken care of my several times when I had managed to incapacitate myself with alcohol; surprisingly, she had also taken care of Sophia a few times.

"You need some help?" Nick asked as he opened the sliding door for us. I was surprised that he was still with Sara. I thought Sara would push him away as Sara pushed most people away. I was even more surprised that Sara was sober.

"Could you start making Greg something for supper?" Sara asked as I swayed against her. She knew what came next; I would spend what felt like an eternity vomiting before Sara would make me drink water and eat.

"Okay. Greg, are you okay?" Nick asked. I had rested my head on Sara's shoulder as she all but dragged me to the master bathroom off my bedroom.

"He'll be okay in a little while," Sara said as she helped me into the bathroom. The smell of beer on my breath was enough to make me gag; Sara told me to go throw up at least half of the twelve pack that I had downed. She knew how fast I was able to suck down alcohol. I heard Nick ask her if I needed to go to the hospital. Sara said that I'd be fine; I was embarrassed to hear her say that she knew what to do.

Sara sat next to me while I retched; she said that I would feel better once it was all over. I usually did. She said something about wanting to stop doing this. She told me that I was a good CSI; Sara told me that she's been meaning to say it more often. Sara told me that she meant it. She gave me aspirin and water when I was done. She said we can't torture ourselves because we cannot get the approval of a man that is emotionally stunted. I wanted to believe her, but I wanted to please him more than anything.

"We didn't have the luxury of having fathers around, but we cannot expect Grissom to understand that right now. He's got other stuff going on," Sara lamented as she handed me a washcloth.

"Are you sure you're Sara?" I asked as I pulled myself off the bathroom floor.

"I'm sober Sara . . . a little wiser than drunken Sara," she commented as she started the shower, "I'll go find some clothes for you to wear."

She left the clothes on the counter. I stood under the hot water trying to cleanse my mind. I didn't like what happened when the hangovers faded. I remembered what I tried to drink away; I remembered feeling inadequate . . . I remembered the faces of the victims. I wondered why exactly I wanted to be a CSI. There were so many days that I would gladly give up my CSI job in favor of a job in my DNA lab. In DNA, the victims didn't have faces that would haunt my sleep.

I wondered when Sara had this epiphany. I was glad that she went home with Nick; I don't think I would have been able to keep her sober . . . I hadn't been able to keep myself sober. I'm glad he cared enough to see that there was a problem. Catherine had seen us walk around like zombies, but I never heard her ask why.

"Greg, eat something before we go," Sara said as I padded out of the bathroom feeling slightly better than I did an hour ago. I nodded.

"Come stay with me tonight," Sara said. It was more of a demand and less of a question. Years ago I would have jumped on this with horny abandon, but tonight, I wanted to fall into a dreamless sleep by myself.

"Sara, I'm tired," I complained as I pushed around the neon orange macaroni and cheese. Nick watched us silently.

"Greg, he has an acoustic neuroma," Sara said after drawing in a huge breath. I dropped my spoon and looked up at her. I had no idea what to say.

"Is he going to be okay?" I asked still surprised.

"The tumor won't kill him, but without his hearing . . . he won't be a CSI anymore," Sara said slowly. I think I nodded before lowering my head to stare at the neon orange concoction.

"Greg, are you okay?" Nick asked speaking directly to me for the first time.

"It wasn't us?" I asked no one in particular.

"It wasn't you . . . it wasn't Sara . . . this was all Grissom," Nick replied. I suddenly lost my appetite. I hurt for the man that I always looked at as the sole father-figure in my life. He may have treated me badly, but in this moment, it didn't matter.

"Did he tell you?" I asked Sara as I pushed my bowl away without taking a bite. She pushed it back at me with threats of going to get my stomach pumped if I didn't eat something.

"Sophia found the doctor's report on his desk. He's doesn't know that we are wise to the situation," Sara replied.

"How's Sophia?" I asked. I didn't think I would like Sophia as much as I did. She was cold, but she did that to protect herself from seeing the victims. Sophia was the consummate professional. Sophia told me that I did a good job. One night in trace, she grasped my hands because they were shaking so badly. Sophia held them until they stopped shaking. Sophia said that I should move slower; she said that I shouldn't be listening to Grissom. She said that Grissom shouldn't be the role model that I should aspire to. I nodded and smiled. She took me out for breakfast that morning; she even invited Sara. We bonded over pancakes and beers. I think that's how it all started.

"I don't know. I'm sure she's going to be okay," Sara replied trying her hardest to smile, "Get packed up. We can try to detox together."

I didn't know what to say to Nick. I felt like I had let him down. I knew that he had been instrumental in getting me a job as a CSI in training.

"I'm sorry. Nick, I'm really sorry I let you down," I said as I lowered my head.

"Don't be. Eat something so we can get going," Nick said. I think I nodded again.

Two hours later, we were all in Sara's apartment. I had called Sophia to make sure that she was okay. Sophia had guaranteed me that she would survive. Sophia said that we were obligated to meet her for breakfast in the morning. Nick told me to try to rest. Nick said that he would stay the night to make sure that we were okay. Only later would I find out that he was afraid that Sara and I might go through withdrawals the next day.

I fell asleep on the pull out couch. I fell into an uncharacteristic black abyss where I was alone without any thoughts.


	6. Grissom's POV: Time

Catherine once said that I didn't have any issues . . . I didn't have any life outside my work. The truth was that I did indeed have few personal problems to interfere with my life. I prided myself on that. When I did have a problem, I pretended it didn't exist until I actually believed that it was only in my head. It almost cost me my hearing once; this time it would take away my hearing.

I had known for three weeks. I went to the audiologist five days later when the headaches became so bad that I could not pretend anymore. I went through hearing acuity checks and a painful biopsy only to have the worst news possible presented to me. I had a glial cell neuroma growing in my right ear. It was taking over my eighth cranial nerve; I was going to be deaf in my right ear following an operation to remove the pre-malignant tumor.

For the first time in my life, I wondered why all this was happening to me. I knew that I should thank my lucky stars that I had my hearing as long as I did. It was hard to be grateful when I felt like everything I loved was being taken away from me.

Every day I looked at Sara and Greg and wanted to tell them. I knew they looked up to me with respect that was unparalleled. Instead, I became angry with them because they could hear. I was angry that fate was playing this game with me. After all, it was a game that I would lose.

The first time I yelled at Sara, I didn't even realize that I was doing it until I saw her try to hide the tears that were welling in her eyes. I didn't want her to love a sick, old man . . . a deaf, sick, old man. I pushed her away. I took most of my anger out on her because I didn't want her to care about me. When my anger became too much to just take out on one person, I made them all suffer. I made them suffer the best way that I could; I made it impossible to please me. I knew that was what they strived for.

I began to believe that somehow Sara was the cause of all my problems. I had made myself vulnerable to her; I let her touch me in a way that I never let anyone else touch me. I let her become a part of my life; I had let them all become a part of my life. I had let personal feelings intrude on cases; I began to look at evidence with an agenda already in mind. I was changing. I blamed all the wrong people for those changes.

I knew Ecklie's motives for breaking up the only family that I had really known. He was jealous. He was jealous that I had a team filled with bright, intelligent people. He had Sophia; he had only Sophia. That made him jealous. When Sophia brushed off his sexual advances, he tossed her to the wayside. He was a monster; I only pretended to be a monster.

I pushed them away; I turned them into people that I no longer recognized. I knew that they were suffering, but on some level I thought they deserved it. I just didn't want them to be hurt; if they hated me, they would never miss me. It was selfish; I wanted to be missed, but I didn't want to be a burden. I didn't want to be a charity case.

Sophia was working in trace. She worked so quickly and deliberately. She reminded me of me. I wanted to tell her to be different; I wanted to tell her to let personal things get in the way of work occasionally. I wished I would have had something personal before I lost it all.

I imagined how I would live the rest of my life. I would have hearing only in my left ear . . . my good ear. My left ear would always be at risk for hearing loss due to the encasement of my bones in calcium, phosphate, and other things that threatened to render me deaf. I could lecture, but lecturing was never something I was good at. I could study bugs in a lab or in the field, but I liked how the bugs helped me solve crimes. The future seemed meaningless. It wasn't fair.

I wondered where my youngest CSIs were. I wondered if they were okay. Very often, they were not okay. I watched my entire team sit on the verge of being alcoholics; it was my fault.

There wasa plant on the corner of my desk. The card simply said _From Sara, Greg, and Sophia_. I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. If only I could turn back time and prevent these changes.


	7. Warrick's POV: Glue

A/N: Sorry I haven't posted in a while -- I'm having really horrible writers block (and insomnia). My goal for Changes is to finish it up in 5 chapters -- I'm also working on finishing Abby and Aureus. Aureus is giving me a really hard time, so if yah'll have any ideas for the plot let me know (please). Happy reading, Jac.

* * *

When Nick hadn't called me last night, I began to worry about Sara. I never wanted to like Sara; if you asked me three years ago, I would have never thought Sara would have become my friend. She was hired to investigate Holly's murder . . . something I will always blame myself for. Sara stayed a little longer to investigate whether or not I was still a gambling addict. I never thought that one day I would turn around and try to figure out if Sara was an alcoholic.

Catherine had noticed that my head wasn't in the game tonight. She looked annoyed, but I wanted to think that on some level she might understand. Catherine never got herself involved with the younger CSIs. She had a daughter; Catherine was at a different point in her life. If Catherine had an emotional bond with anyone, it was Nick. As of a few months ago, Catherine and I had a whole different kind of bond . . . well, it was a whole new kind of sexual tension that I had never encountered before.

I had been counting the seconds until the shift was over. I had told Catherine that I had some things that I needed to take care of right after shift. I was pretty sure that Catherine knew what I wanted to go take care of. Night shift had been uncharacteristically close to each other. Separating the team wasn't going to make that go away.

It was three in the morning, but I found myself standing at the door of an apartment that I never imagined I would ever willingly go to. I didn't know what to do next; I stood outside Sara's door for a few minutes trying to calculate the next move. I finally knocked; I was relived to see that Nick answered the door.

"She okay?" I asked as I entered the apartment.

"Sara and Greg are okay," Nick said as he gestured to where Greg was sleeping on the pull-out couch, "Sara's in her bedroom."

"What's next?" I asked as Nick and I retreated to the small kitchen area off the living room.

"I don't know . . . when my uncle was a recovering alcoholic, he had seizures and stuff a few days after he was admitted to the hospital. I thought I might see if I can get a few days off to watch Greg and Sara," Nick replied.

"You think they drank that much?" I asked stunned that their alcoholism might be so much worse than we ever considered.

"Greg finished off a twelve pack in the span of four hours," Nick commented. I had a hard time picturing Greg drinking; it might be that I always thought of him as a goofy little brother. It was hard to picture him as an alcoholic.

"Is he okay?" I asked.

"Sara made him throw it up. She said that he's done that a few times before . . . never bad enough to justify him going to the hospital to have his stomach pumped," Nick commented. I didn't understand how we did notice this.

"So how do we help them?" I asked after drawing in a large breath.

"Sara wants to do something to help Greg . . . man, she doesn't give a damn about what happens to her anymore. She just wants to save Greg," Nick replied. He looked agitated; Nick took this kind of stuff personally. He always suffered with the victims.

"So something like AA? Do they need something more than that?" I asked.

"I don't know . . . do you think Catherine could help? She might know what to do," Nick replied.

"Someone should say something to Grissom," I replied, but I had no intention of being the one to call him on his bad behavior.

"I don't know . . . have you heard what's going on?" Nick asked. I must have looked at him blankly because he began to speak immediately. "Acoustic neuroma."

"Cancer?" I asked. It felt like someone had punched me in the chest; I wasn't expecting that.

"Benign, but I guess those tumors transform into cancer," Nick clarified. I didn't even know what else to ask; I had heard Catherine ask Grissom about his hearing before. I knew the stories about his mother and her disability. Grissom would never approve of me thinking it was a disability; his mother had the ability to communicate in a way I don't think I ever could.

"When Eckley finds out . . . he's gone, isn't he?" I asked. Well, it wasn't really a question. It was more of a statement of the obvious. We were required to have all our senses to be in this line of work. It was Grissom that had pounded that in me; every crime scene was a sensory overload. Sometimes the clues would come in the form of scents . . . other times there was something to be looked at.

"Eckley is going to love being the one to fire Grissom," Nick commented. I could almost picture the devilish little man getting off on firing someone that he was always jealous of. I could picture Eckley sitting at his desk smiling as he simply stated _Gil, buddy, things just aren't working out._ It gave me chills. Eckley was finally getting what he wanted . . . the chance to be the 'most talented' person in the lab. True be told, I had more faith in Greg than I ever would in Eckley.

"I know. Doesn't it piss you off that someone like Eckley is going to get everything he wants?" I asked.

"He tried for so long to have Grissom's life . . . now, I think he's going to," Nick lamented. Eckley was going to have the lab. Eckley had pushed Sophia and Catherine to be a willing participant in a romantic relationship for so long; I was glad that both refused. I wondered how long it would be until he would be after Sara. Eckley did want everything that Grissom could have; I was sure sooner or later he would try to also have Sara. It wasn't fair that a control freak could come in and seemingly alter all the forces that kept our lab in line.

"What about cochlear implants? My baby cousin had one," I said.

"Grissom doesn't realize that we all know about his hearing. I don't know if he would want us there . . . I don't know if he would want us," Nick replied.

"I don't think Grissom knows what he wants anymore . . . I think he just wants it to be yesterday," I replied. Some days, I would give anything to erase the last month. Some days, I would give up anything to not have to work for Catherine. It gave our outside the office relationship a whole new complexity that I was having a hard time working through.

"What's next?" Nick asked.

"Man, I already asked you that question. You didn't have the answer . . . don't expect me to," I said trying to laugh, but the laughter wouldn't come.

"Let's get Sara and Greg better. The only person who has ever gotten through to Grissom is Catherine," Nick replied.

"I'll call Cat and see what she thinks we can do to keep this an internal matter," I replied.

"You called her 'Cat' . . . you dog," Nick replied smiling. Catherine would skin anyone that called her by that nickname. I had taken to calling her than in private just so she would remember that outside the time clock, she was not my boss . . . I wanted her to remember that this thing we had was a partnership.

"Thanks, buddy. Don't you dare say anything to her . . . she'll kick your ass and then mine," I replied.

"At least someone's like isn't helter-skelter," Nick commented.

"Only the night shift is helter-skelter," I replied. I knew how lucky I was. My life was just starting to head in the right direction. It was hard to be happy when I knew that my friend's lives and my mentor's life were falling to pieces.

My grandmother once said that there wasn't a glue that could fix broken people. This is the first time that I really began to believe that.


	8. Nick's POV: 'The Why'

They invited Warrick and me to join them for breakfast. We went to the same diner we always went to; we sat at the same table we always sat at. Instead of waiting for Grissom, we waited for a bleary-eyed Sophia to join us.

Sophia looked as if she had just been dragged to hell and back. She had that same look on her face that Sara did only yesterday. Sophia looked as if she might cause bodily harm to the first thing that approached her the wrong way. Her normally immaculate appearance was disheveled at best; her tight-fitting pants suit was wrinkled. Sophia's fingers were consisted of a myriad of paper cuts.

"You survived?" Greg asked. He might have meant it as a comment, but it came out sounding so much more like a question.

"Barely. Nice plant; Grissom left the lab the minute he read the card. Didn't even bother to yell at me as he walked out the door," Sophia replied as the waitress filled her coffee cup.

"Was this the angry, tyrannical Grissom that left the building or was this a humbled man?" Sara asked as we watched Sophia fill through the menu. We always ordered the same thing.

"Humbled man . . . maybe an embarrassed man," Sophia commented, "He knows that we know. I bet he thinks Catherine told us."

"You guys should warn Catherine before she catches hell this afternoon," Sara said.

"Too many damn choices. Greggo, what are you having?" Sophia said as she slammed the menu down on the table. Her English accent was much more pronounced in the few moments that she let her guard down. Sophia seemed much more human when she wasn't pretending to be the consummate professional. I guessed that maybe she figured out that professionalism wasn't the way to climb the ladder at work; it was all about shrewd politics . . . or kissing Ecklie's ass as often as possible.

"Garbage omelet," Greg replied.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are what you eat?" Sophia asked.

"Has anyone told you that the British are snobbish?" Greg replied in a horrible English accent. Greg, Sara, and Sophia began to laugh. Warrick and I probably just looked confused; for the first time, I could clearly see all the changes. Greg would have never made a comment like that to me. I may have had his respect, but I don't know if I ever had his friendship.

"Warrick, what are you eating?" Sophia asked.

"Ham and cheese omelet," Warrick replied. He was probably taken a little off guard. He looked like he might have been a thousand miles away.

"That sounds good. Sara, I was going to go for a pedicure this afternoon . . . want to join me?" Sophia asked.

"Sidle, you get pedicures?" I asked surprised that there was femininity somewhere inside of the tomboy persona Sara so easily portrayed.

"Yah, Greggo gets them too," Sara replied as she mock punched me in the arm. It was nice to have some familiarity.

"You swore that you wouldn't tell," Greg hissed as he punched Sara in the arm. Sara pretended to be hurt. Sophia threatened Greg with having to work up the next decomp . . . _low man on the totem pole._

"Greg, my man, pedicures? You've got to be kidding," Warrick replied.

"I work with two attractive women and an emotionally closed off hermit . . . I choose to hang out with the two very attractive woman," Greg replied as he tried to put an arm around Sophia. I was surprised that she let him. I was even more surprised that she told Greg that _you have the potential to grow-up to be a very lovely man._ Her accent was becoming more and more pronounced as she began to loosen up.

"We never hung out," Warrick said sounding a little disappointed that his relationships with his co-workers were nothing like the closeness of Greg, Sara, and Sophia. I rarely hung out with Warrick; we watched an occasional football game together. We had gone out to a few clubs – we definitely never went with Catherine for pedicures.

"Well would you gentlemen like to join Sara and me for a pedicure?" Sophia teased.

"If you call ahead to see if the hot blonde is there, I will," Greg replied enthusiastically.

"You perv," Sara replied laughing.

"Well, she wore that low cut top and when she was massaging my feet . . ." Greg replied smiling.

"You perv," Sara replied as she self-consciously pulled the neckline of her shirt up a little bit.

"Greggo, they have hot blondes?" I asked. Sara shot me a glare that would put Medusa to shame.

"Norwegian . . . maybe Icelandic. Very nice," Greg replied.

For a moment everything felt normal again. Sophia was talking to Warrick about a conference that they were going to in Chicago. Greg regaled me with tales of the masseuse and the finer points of receiving a pedicure. Sara reminded Greg that he was a pervert; Sara said I wasn't too far from one either. What Greg didn't know was that I recently had developed a penchant for brunettes.

"Good morning," Grissom said as he approached our table. He looked a little dismayed to see Sophia was sitting in his spot. All of us stopped talking. Grissom immediately noticed and began to fidget self-consciously.

"Here you go, chief," Greg said as he pulled a chair over from the empty table next to us. I gave Greg credit for pretending that there wasn't a huge elephant in the room.

"Sophia, Sara, Greg, it was very thoughtful of you to send me that plant," Grissom said as he sat down. The three quietly nodded their heads.

"Who told you?" he asked. The three lowered their heads as if they were preparing to be yelled at.

"It doesn't matter . . . does it?" Grissom asked no one in particular.

In that moment, Grissom seemed to gain the wisdom that sometimes 'the how' doesn't really matter . . . sometimes it's all about 'the why.'


	9. Grissom's POV: Changes

A/N: After many days of struggling with this story, I've decided that this will be the last chapter (I might do an epilogue some time in the future). I hope you all like it -- sorry . . . it's not the happiest ending. Happy reading, Jac.

* * *

I went to the same old, dirty diner where they sat at the same greasy table probably ordering the same things they always ordered. Sara would order pancakes, but end up eating some of the hashbrowns off Greg's plate. Greg would order a garbage omelet full of various meats, cheeses, and vegetables that must somehow come together in harmony. Nick always got sausage and biscuits with two eggs sunny side up, but he would end up eating one of Sara's pancakes. Warrick was the standard ham and cheese omelet. I had no idea what Sophia would eat. Normally it wouldn't matter, but I wished I knew her. I wished I knew the woman that I was torturing for my illness.

I came here to tell them. I came here to beg for their forgiveness. I wanted them to forgive me; I needed them to forgive me. I loved them more than I ever believed that I could love another human being. I had hurt them so much in so many different ways. There were five people at that table; I had hurt them direct or indirectly. They all suffered. I was sorry.

My mother always said you can't teach old dogs new tricks. That's why she never had her hearing restored by the technology available to her. That's why she was leery about every medication in her body. I hid behind my age too. I didn't let myself love; I didn't let myself have real, meaningful relationships. In the last two hours, I decided that I could no longer be like my mother. I didn't want to be the old, deaf man that dies alone in his house . . . discovered only after the stench becomes unbearable.

This morning their transfer requests made their way across my desk. I didn't know that I was losing them; I didn't know that I was losing them on terms not my own. I began to wonder why I began to push them away in the first place. I didn't want them to watch me suffer, so I isolated myself. It was dumb, Gil; that's the dumbest thing you've ever done. I realized that I needed them.

Sara's head was hung. I didn't know what to say to her. I had done so many unfair things to her; I held her responsible for all my problems. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and tell her that I was sorry. I'm sure she wouldn't hear a word of it. It was too late for me to say those intimate things to her. I had done my damage. I had damaged her as much, if not more, than all the other men that had rendered her broken. I didn't mean to.

Greg . . . he's like the son I never imagined having. I didn't let him know that I was proud of him. I took a hands off approach to him; Sara was responsible for his growth as a CSI. She nurtured him in a way that I should have. This morning in my fleeting moments of wisdom, I wondered how I could hurt them.

"I'm not dying. I'm just going to lose my hearing my in right ear," I said ineptly. They nodded and pretended that they had just become privy to this information.

"I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry I hurt you all," I whispered. I wondered if they could hear me . . . I could barely hear myself. Well, I knew I couldn't hear myself because my cells were proliferating in such a way that my inner ear was being occluded.

They didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say to them to make this any less awkward. Sara's head was still hung. Greg's chest moved so little that I need to stare at him to ensure that he was breathing. Nick and Warrick avoided eye contact with me. Sophia was the only one to look me dead in the eye as if she might just be thinking about how much pity she felt for me. I wondered if I had disappointed the people I cared about the most.

"It's going to get better after the surgery . . . I'm looking at electronic options to help me hear again," I rambled to fill the uncomfortable silence.

I cleared my throat.

"I don't want you to worry about me. You need to start worrying about yourselves. Don't let Eckley take away what I thought he did . . . he didn't take away the nightshift. Eckley just rearranged it," I said as I began to choke up, "Don't let him win."

I heard Sara whisper _we won't._

Changes had always been compared to the seasons. I was lucky enough to have a season that last four and a half years. By all standards, I was lucky that bureaucracy hadn't come in and changed things so much earlier. I was lucky that my hearing hadn't changed things years before my nightshift had formed.

I sat looking at each member of my team . . . new and old. In them, I found the strength to begin to take all these changes head on. I hope, for their sake, they also start to take on all the changes in their lives. In this world, it's hard to idle . . . changes are inevitable.

FIN


End file.
